


Porcelain

by intoxicated_by_our_lies, klismaphilia



Series: The Family [3]
Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Caretaking, Crying, Emotional Abuse, Feminization, Forced Crossdressing, Forced Relationship, Goddammit, Housewife fantasies, Humiliation, Jester is just terrified, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Instability, Obsessive Behavior, Possession, SK is kind of a dick, SK somehow thinks he can impregnate Jester, Schizophrenia, Suicidal Ideation, Verbal Slurs, delusional characters, doll fetishism, he kinda gets drugged in the end, just not in this fic, non-con elements, phaneromania, referenced sex but not specified, scar horror, yes he does kill people, you wish it was though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 07:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4737581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoxicated_by_our_lies/pseuds/intoxicated_by_our_lies, https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/klismaphilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're going to be beautiful." Serial Killer/Jester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Porcelain

**Author's Note:**

> WE DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED  
> at first the SK was just gonna get the Jester lynched and then... this...
> 
> therefore, we have decided that the Serial Killer is either an unsub or the second coming of Eddie Gluskin.
> 
> Mooncake is Jester and Intoxicated is Serial Killer. Enjoy.

You’re alone. You’re alone and you’ve always been alone and you’ll always be alone, because you don’t know how to talk aside from stuttered, mangled words that you can barely get out over the screaming in your ears. They all look at you with such disdain these days, their eyes watching and searing and taunting you until you feel like screaming. But if you scream, you know they’d scream louder and then they’d all scream and it would be a blur of strung out curses that never shut up, and… and-!

You find yourself out on an impossibly cold winter night, barefoot in the snow around the square. You’ve been standing here for what seems like hours- and maybe it has been hours, you’re not sure, you just know that they’re watching you, that they want you to see, to know, to feel. It’s a constant, their voices churning your stomach and forcing your eyes to rest on that pretty rope necklace over the crowd…

You bite down on your lower lip, teeth digging in so hard that red is soon spilling over, dribbling over your lips and down your chin, practically freezing in place on your face. You can’t bring yourself to move, but you wouldn’t care anyway. It’s a part of you, a part of your body, and the voices demand that you spill it all, all the beautiful red and orange all over the snow, that your body becomes icy white and split open and dead.

But they yearn for that necklace even more, the little rope that would paint your neck such lovely shades of blue and purple. Yes, they remind you of how gorgeous you’ll be, how proud you’ll make the town, how much they’ll all love you-

_Imagine it! A pretty little doll with their neck snapped!_

__

_Wouldn’t it just be so lovely to wear?_

__

_Ring around the rosie… pocket full of posies… snap snap snap…_

The thoughts, the endless, muddled stream of voices ringing in your ears compel you to move, closer and closer until you’re sitting on the edge of the stand, your arms wrapping around the pole of the lynching post, around cold wood and metal. You press your face to it gently, reveling in the sanctuary it provides you…

__

_Don’t you want to try it on?_

__

_Yes, yes! It’ll be so lovely! Just wait for them to come out tomorrow, watch them celebrate. Your corpse will be the most delightful, the most beautiful, the most ethereal…_

__

_Come on, paper doll, why don’t you make yourself happy? Just for a few minutes? You know they won’t mind. They all hate you anyway._

_(They want you to die. They think you’re disgusting, filthy. You make them sick. You cry too much. You’re useless. You’re worthless. You don’t have any reason to stick around. They all hate you. All they want to see is a corpse… they don’t care about you. Liar. Liar. Liar. Crazy little Jester.)_

We just want you to be happy, they say, and you find yourself with tears on your face, dripping over pale cheeks as you try and shield your face from the wind.

You need to die. You need to suffer. You need to… you need to hang. Nobody’s ever called you beautiful before. Nobody’s ever… the voices promise… they promised! They told you how pretty you’d be, if only you could let yourself fall, dangle from that thick grey rope…

* * *

You could hear someone playing the piano, their skills impressive as each note is beautiful created. It reminds you of the beautiful melodies that your mother used to play- when your father was drinking with the other scummy losers in the town and she was trying to forget her life.

It always made you smile.

Sadly, as you recall, your mother stopped playing those beautiful melodies after your father used the metal covering to break all her fingers. She never seemed to want to touch it again- selfish woman. She should've continued to do it. It was your favourite thing.

The closer you get to the town square, the music slowly starts fading away until- silence. No crickets, wind chimes, or dogs barking. It's peaceful- silence is one of the nicest things. You loved when you were able to hear the silent buzz of electronics or the moans of the passionate at night.

And it seemed that you didn't even have to break into the houses.

That’s when you notice a lone figure, standing in the middle of the town square up on the lynching stand, the rope hanging around his neck. What was he about to do? You couldn't help but wonder. Would he fasten it (it looked so loose, it wouldn't work if he didn't tie it), and then run off the stand? That'd be exciting.

Maybe you'd get lucky and they wouldn't tie it- they'd lay hanging off the stand, their cheeks turning blue, unable to make a sound, clawing and kicking the air so desperately. The thought made you so excited, you could feel yourself growing hard. The person would be so lifeless- a corpse, glassy eyed and frozen forever in time.

You wondered, for the briefest of moments, what he'd be like then. So, so completely still and consenting. Perhaps you could recreate the scene a few times- just playing with his limp body. Tying the rope around his neck, pushing him off, recounting the scene of his final moments, and then starting it all again.

That'd be so fun - to be able to completely recapture someone's final moments, over and over again made you excited. The ultimate control over someone.

* * *

 

_Just a little further, sweetie- just a little tighter-!_

__

_Don’t you feel so wonderful? Isn’t it just the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen? Wait until it makes the colors come back! Those pretty purples and blues- you’d like that, wouldn’t you?_

__

_They’re going to be so pleased with you once they see! They’ll all laugh with you once you’re on the stand, all cherish you, put roses around your corpse- it’s funny how death can change people, innit?_

You can’t help the tears that are leaking down your face, not from anger, or… or hurt, or even sadness, no- it’s from their compliments. They never compliment you, not like this. Nobody’s ever said anything so… so nice to you? Most of your memories are fists, are being shoved around and beaten until your skin was swollen and eyes puffy. You remember the vulgarities he used to scream at you, especially when he made you dress for him, and… and you remember the way she used to laugh at you, and scold you whenever you spoke. And you remember them and their taunts and jeers and how they all laughed at you and kicked you and shoved you under the floorboards…

_They all knew how pathetic you were, don’t you see? Weak, useless, crazy. Weren’t good for anything unless it was bleeding. Couldn’t even speak… they all liked to watch you stutter at them._

“Y-you don’t understand…” you choke out, hands flying to your head, tangling in your matted blond hair as you choke back a sob. “You w-weren’t there… p-please…”

_But we love you! We only want the best for you, don’t you see? It’ll be so much easier once you’re dead- and think of your body blowing in the breeze like that! Like a picture from a fairy tale. You like those still, don’t you?_

“Y-yes,” you choke out, raising a hand to wipe tears from your eyes. “I j-just have to… t-to get up here tomorrow? R-right? A-and they’ll be happy… and I’ll be f-free? Like… like a bird in the sky? W-will I get to see… will t-there be angels? A-and fairies and lots of-of s-singing?”

_Of course there will, sweetie._

“Will I get… t-to see-” You swallow your own sob, trying to quell the lump in your throat as your eyes spot a figure standing motionless in front of you, staring up at you with an expression of… of ice and frozen things, something that radiates power and… and bad feelings too. You shake, arms braced around your sides as you call out.

“I’m s-sorry!” You cry to them. “I j-j-just wanted to see… th-they said it’d be okay… t-they said I’d be p-pretty? And free… like a b-bird?” You cough, suddenly, but your eyes don’t leave their face for even an instant. “A-are you going to… h-help? I can… I can d-die and be all s-sorts of… pretty colors! D-do you like purple? M-my neck is going to be purple.”

You have to hide the tiny giggle that threatens to slip out at that, as you continue to stare at them… they’re a lot less scary now than they were earlier. You almost want to… to invite them up with you! Maybe they’ll help tomorrow, too. Maybe they’ll… they’ll smile when they see?

* * *

You smiled.

He looked so nice, his body looked so..  lovely wrapped in rope and open clothes. His body was beautiful. So slender and tiny. Like those pretty little porcelain dolls with gold sewn into their hair and wrapped in fine silk. Your sister had those, but she never took care of them as well as you did. She didn't brush their hair - one hundred times, with a brush and then carefully using a comb - or clean the shelves where they laid everyday.

You had to punish her for that- she had to learn to keep her dolls cared for more seriously. So you broke them all. Dragging her by her hair and making her watch as you threw them on the ground, jumping on them until her face was a deep red and tears stained the carpet. It was the only way to get her to learn to take care of her stuff properly.

The man in front of you though, the jester... he looked more fragile than the dolls. You wondered if you'd be able to repair his body- or if he's so fragile that he’d break into so many pieces that you could never put him back together. Both of them sound like such lovely ideas..

"Purple's my favourite colour," you reach out, ignoring his nice little moans and whimpers, petting the side of his cheek. He's so soft, so beautiful. You want to move your hands, explore his body and see if the rest of him is soft too. How quickly does soft skin rot?

Or does hard, crusty skin rot faster? Perhaps you should steal him away to your home, encase him in cold ice. No, that wouldn't be the best idea. That ugly blue colour would stain his skin in a week and you wouldn't get to feel the smooth flesh anymore - he'd be so cold, and his body wouldn't be perfect like it was now.

You almost feel like pouting- you want to be able to feel his skin forever.

"You'd look beautiful in purple," you almost purr. "I'm here to help you. And I'm ready to help you in every way that you need it."

His eyes look so desperate for this to be true, you wonder if you'd be able to keep this beautiful look of innocence and want in your head forever. Maybe, when he dies, you'd be able to force his face to make this expression.

"I'll give you wings."

* * *

You don’t know where to start, how to feel, but there’s an audible warmth that springs out from your heart at their words. You think he seems like a very nice person. You don’t know if he’s being honest- nobody was ever honest around you- but the look he’s giving you eases that worry.

You bite down on your lip again, looking at him with an unwavering gaze, not sure of what you should say next, because there’s so much you want to say now, and… and there’s not enough words for that! But you think you can speak anyway, to… to ask him why.

“A-are you going to… m-make me fly? L-like a fairy or an-an angel?” You blink, unable to tear your gaze from his face, even as they run their tongue across their lips in a way that makes you a little uneasy. But it doesn’t matter, you think, because he’s very nice and nice people help you right? And he said he was going to help you and…

He called you beautiful.

“D-do you really… t-think I’m p-pretty?” You ask him, tears almost springing to your eyes at the thought. Nobody… nobody’s ever… complimented you before, and it makes you feel nice. You didn’t know that you could feel like this, not around people, at least. You feel the need to let him know, so you force a tiny smile onto your lips, and add, “You m-make me feel n-nice, mister.”

He seems to smile at that, and you let out a laugh, remembering how he’d touched your cheek and how warm he was and how nice you felt and it was good. It was very good and you wanted him to keep talking. Your head slips out of the noose as he extends a hand to you again, because you want to take it and because he compliments you and it was very polite of him and you think it would be most sensible to go with him.

“I-I like you… y-you have g-green eyes and… that’s m-my favorite color,” you whisper, glancing up to him (he’s quite a bit taller than you, you note, and it’s a little intimidating because it reminds you of your brothers…) “I’m g-going to be p-pretty and purple and b-blue and white and b-black. M-my friends said.”

_Show him! Show him how lovely you are! He wants to see!_

Your hands quickly roll up your sleeves to expose red gashes and purple bruises and you offer him a glance of happiness. You think he should be pleased at this.

“S-see? Red too.”

* * *

He ruined his skin... he was so beautiful - and he fucking ruined it.

How dare he cut and bruise his beautiful skin?? Doesn't he know how perfect it is? It made you so angry, you want to scream.. restrain his body and sew the awful, awful gashes up, and use some kind of body paint to permanently conceal those bruises.

He didn't deserve his skin if he was going to damage it- your sister didn't deserve her dolls- NO ONE DESERVES B E A U T I F U L THINGS IF THEY CANNOT PRESERVE THEIR BEAUTY. No one. How dare they assume they deserve anything? They're so ungrateful for their things.. how you would kill for such lovely items; for skin as fine and beautiful as his; for something that would forever..

...him. He was beautiful. He has so many lovely things that he doesn't deserve.. he doesn't even want to live. H-he wouldn't mind if you just.. took his body, right? He'd be dead and.. you'd be happy. You'd have something beautiful and you'd be happy. Happiness and beauty are all you want.

You couldn't hurt him though, no no. It could damage his skin. That beautiful light blush and pale skin would forever be gone if you ruined it. You needed to.. you needed to find a way to.. you needed to keep your skin forever cleaned and unblemished further.

Maybe you could push him off the stage, put the noose around him.. No.. those ugly, ugly bruises would show.. and you hate that colour. Blue-purple.. it's so ugly. Blue, ugly. Purple, beautiful. But it makes such a gross colour, even when something as beautiful as purple was mixed into it.

You hated red, too. The colour of blood, tomatoes, and the colour that imprints on your skin when you sit too long. It was too bright and ugly.

Why did he have to make those marks on his skin? Why wouldn't he just.. just.. why did he have to ruin his skin? It wasn't fair.

You had to fix it- him- it was yours now.

"Please," your voice cracks, revealing an almost giggly tone. If anyone heard you, they think you'd be talking to a young child. "Come with me, let- let's get you changed."

His hands feel so cold in yours, so small and delicate.

* * *

You can’t help noticing how warm his hands are- it’s nice, the warmth, and his skin is smooth and the way he’s wrapped his hand around yours is like being wrapped in a blanket. You give him a tiny smile, because you’re not sure of what you should say, as usual. But they way he looks at you then, his eyes so shadowed and wolfish and just… unnerving makes you bite on your lip again, so hard that you can feel it bleeding, re-tearing and chewing on the splits in the skin…

You let him drag you away, his fingers wrapped so tightly around your wrist now, and you can’t help wondering if this was actually a good idea… the voices, your friends, they told you that he was being honest, that… that he was going to help you so you could wear the pretty rope necklace and so that you could just close your eyes and all the pain would disappear. They said that he would make it go away.

He’s so fair looking, even in his dark clothes, and you think he’s very pretty himself and you wished that you could look like that. But your clothes are all tattered and you don’t have shoes anymore and the only warmth you find is from your own blood, or when you press your hands under your arms or between your legs because it’s very warm like that. You wonder if he’s going to take the cold away too, and make the black turn white again.

In a way, you almost want him to kill you, because if he did it, it would be less bad, you think. You know that he wants to take care of you, you can see it in his eyes, and it’s almost pleasing, to think someone could care that much for you…

When he’s pulling you into the house, and out of the cold, and turning on a light that’s so bright you feel like your eyes are going to burst, you have to look up at him with concern. You don’t know why he’s brought you here… maybe he’s going to tell you how he’ll help? Maybe he wants you to bleed some more for him? Does he like red- he said he liked purple. You wonder if he has any purple paint… you could make his hands pretty and draw on them for him. You always liked when your mother did that. Maybe he’d like it too?

“I-it’s nice here,” you say simply. “You m-make my chest f-feel happy. G-good feelings.” You leave it at that, glancing down to your sock-clad feet… you can feel the cold floor through the holes and it makes you shiver a little. “W-why… em… h-how are you g-going to help me fly?” You swallow, unsure of how sensible the words you are saying are… especially when he turns away, because it makes you sad. You reach out to the serial killer, your fingers just barely touching the side of his arm. “A-are you okay? D-don’t be m-m-mad at me…”

* * *

Your fingers quickly slide the lock into the placeholder, then find their way down to the lock on the doorknob. While this wasn't really the best set of security, anything more would make him feel paranoid- or at least you figured it might.

"I'm not mad at you," you smile, turning him around to wrap both of your arms around his shoulders. His shoulders relax almost instantly, completely at ease.

"Come with me, I have something that you can wear." Your fingers barely touch his arms once you let go of his shoulders, but he still leans in and follows you.

You lead him into your bedroom, almost giddily giggling at each step. "Here, here, please, sit down. Let me get them for you."

He looks so cute, slowly moving towards the bed, seemingly uncaring of your gaze. You wonder how heavy he is- one hundred and twenty pounds? He was so tiny - like a stick. It shouldn't be too hard to move him to the bathroom after he was unconscious..

Quickly, you wrap your arms around the jester's neck, obstructing his breathing, forcing one hand around his windpipe and grabbing hold of that hand with your other hand. He claws at your bicep, thrashing his feet wildly, but not really struggling, per se. Blood leaks from the new claw marks, where he’s torn at your arms, spilling out from the wounds as he struggles to stay conscious. The thrashing stops quickly, and it’s not too long before he’s hanging his head, and you drag his body to lay on the bed.

You lie on top of him, moving your hands from his thighs, to his buttocks, and use the back of your hand until it reaches the grasp of his own. "You look so beautiful asleep, like an angel."

Would it be wrong to just hold him, to hold him until he wakes up? He's so nice.. so soft and cold. Your fingers grasp his clothes, pulling his shirt over his body and tossing it to the side.

Perfect, you almost want to moan. His chest was beautifu- no, no. It was hideous. Your eyes almost bulge out of your head when you notice that he has deep scars penetrating along the bottom of his waist. Large cuts that seemed to be so close to cutting something off. You do your best to prevent yourself from striking him. How dare he have continued to hurt himself?

His pants are the next to come off, along with his underwear. Small brushes of hair reveal themselves from his pelvic area. Your hands brush against his thighs, gently caressing them.

You lean down, moving your hands to his cheeks and kiss his lips. He looked perfect for what you had in mind.

You move to the bathroom, holding his shoulders in your arms. Amazingly, the tub is still filled with halfway melted ice and you're quick to dump the younger man's body into it. He doesn't wake up as his body is engulfed in the icy water.

"You're going to look beautiful in the outfit I have for you," you kiss his lips again, noting that they're already turning cold.

* * *

You’re swallowed by a sea of black- a dark, empty canvas, not a drop of white in sight… it’s enough to make you shiver, and… you can’t even hear them anymore. You know that they’ll be upset though, because you broke your promise and you died and they’re going to be so angry with you… you can already hear those words, like your own heartbeat, useless worthless scared shameful weak helpless disgusting stuttering suicidal freak piece of shit don’t deserve to live nobody likes you you’re so ugly he hates you they all hate you mommy hates you we hate you you worthless, spineless little worm, lunatic enough that you wanted it, you wanted all of it and you disgust us…

And then you sink. And you don’t know how long it is before you feel yourself waking up, before you feel such a horribly thick and terrifying cold that you’re shaking and you come to with a scream, trying to move your arms, but all your nerves seen to have gone dead, _dead and black and blue and bloody spaces between your tiny fibers and the little holes that are in your skin all over your body you can feel them consuming you swallowing swallowing TAKING YOUR ENTIRE BODY…_

You instinctively let out a little whimper at the… the sudden franticness, the need to scratch and cut and bleed yourself so that the holes go away and your friends are pleased with you again, but you’re too cold, too frozen to move…

You shakily part your lips, stuttering, wanting to say something so desperately, yet having no idea what it would be…

Out of the corner of your eye, you can make out his figure, leaning against the side of the tub, eyes glinting in an odd way as he watches you… you feel like he’s going to devour you… you don’t know why you trusted them, not now, but you just wanted someone to like you, wanted it so much you couldn’t even think… _he was nice, he called you pretty and made nice faces and liked your colors and…_

No. No, he was a liar, and he’d lied to you, and he was a horrible, evil, _bad person_ like you’d always been warned about, but you were so gullible and he’d just seemed so nice, and… you just wanted him to help you swing from the little stand. You thought he could help you rip the pretty doll’s paper head off… snap, crumpled and ripped and gone! Your eyes meet his and you can only hope he can see how angry you are… you don’t like being angry, but… he lied to you and it was bad and it made your feelings hurt.

He’s pulling you up at the glance, staring into your eyes and you can feel his breath across your chin and your lips… and it’s warm, it’s so warm that you instinctively lean towards him, wanting him to make you warmer again, wanting him to just… just make it warm and let the bad feelings go away because you needed him right now and he was the only thing you had because he made them shut up--!

* * *

"You're up," you gave him another easy smile. "I'm so glad you're alive!"

It was always better when they're awake, it was fun seeing them react to the fun times they were about to have. His body was perfect too - a slightly blue colour and nicely stiffened. (In more ways than one, you noted, appreciatively.)

"Did you enjoy your rest?" you reach out for him, cupping his face and leaning in. "You're going to be beautiful, I won't let you continue to destroy yourself any further. Please, just.. just go back to sleep."

The younger looked so tired, he looked like all he wanted to do was pass out again. You briefly wondered if you'd be able to pick him up again, or if he'd be able to walk to his bedroom for his dressing.

"You look cold." You clasp his hand into yours. "Do you want to get into the clothes I promised you?"

He nods. Or at least you think he did. His head was dipping back and forth in the water, so it was rather hard to decipher what he was actually doing. Still, you gently lifted him from the tub.

"Just follow my lead, I have you."

His legs are heavy, and you have to pull him along, but you manage to get him to sit on the bed. He shakes, wrapping his arms around himself.

"You're going to look beautiful," you give him another smile.

Walking over to the dresser, you take out a dress and a few other accessories. It's a light pink colored dress with the skirt of the dress white. In your other hand are white gloves, panties, and panty hose.

You move over to the jester, holding his legs on your lap as you quickly attempt to pull the underwear onto him. You have to grip his testicles and properly position them as to not leave anything showing, but soon, it becomes perfect. You slide the black panty hose up his legs, slowly pulling them up over his hips.

The dress is going to look beautiful on him.

* * *

You’re shuddering when he begins to dress you, legs shaking uncontrollably as he attempts to pull the stockings up over your legs, around your hips in the most uncomfortable way… You want nothing more than for it to be over, to just get away from him, kick him and squirm and run-! But you can hardly move your lower body aside from the fearful trembling that you can’t help…

You’re terrified, entirely terrified, a million thoughts running through your head and you want to scream and cry and lash out because you don’t understand what he’s doing and you want to ask him _why, why are you doing this to me, why are you hurting me, why did you make it cold and black and why did you put your hands around my neck, whywhywhy…_ But your throat is closing up and you can’t breathe, all you can do is shake and try to force some reaction from your own body…

When he’s forcing you to sit up, pulling the light fabric over your arms, you lean forward unintentionally. You’re so cold, so tired and this is _wrong_ of him and you know it’s wrong and you don’t feel good… but it’s also so nice, and the fabric’s so warm, some sort of pink satin, pale and smooth and shiny and prettier than you had thought possible… it’s so comforting  that you can’t stop yourself from relaxing into the touch of his hand against your back, your face pressed into his chest. He’s so warm and you feel bad for thinking it, but you want him to touch you more because his hands are so _good and nice and warm_ even if they are a bit rough…

And then it hits you suddenly, an abrupt pain in your head, something so… so painful and you feel so tired and you just want to pass out, just want to die and make everything go away, _just go away because I don’t want this, don’t want them or it or him, can’t stand it, hurts so much, so cold, aching, throbbing, make it stop, make it stop-!_

You’re shouting suddenly, and arching forward yet again, so hurt you can’t think and you look up at him with your tear-filled eyes, spilling over your cheeks because it’s just so painful… and he’s grabbing you and forcing you to lie back on the bed, his body so close to yours and so much bigger and it makes you so upset, you think, as you press your hand up to weakly push at his chest… _leave me alone, please, I can’t take this…_

“I-I can’t… d-don’t… please, no…” you choke, hoping he doesn’t move, doesn’t touch you, doesn’t do anything else… but you can feel his hand slipping lower, across the thin fabric of your skirt, before moving under it, pressing over your thighs and you’re trying to move, to run and hide because then he’ll leave you alone, and…

You’re terrified. You’ve never felt so scared and you just want your mother here because she always knew what to do when you got upset… and you don’t want him to touch you anymore, you just want him to get away from you, to let you die and leave you alone…

* * *

"Sh," you press your finger against his lips, stroking his face with the remainder of your hand. "I have you. Don't you feel beautiful? You look like a doll- aren't you happy?"

Your other hand explored his thighs, groping and stroking them passionately. Your lips again meet his, and you smile. "You are beautiful- I made you so beautiful. You're mine forever. I'll make you more beautiful every day." You wonder how long you'd have with him; will his skin forever be beautiful and soft, or will his skin one day just.. turn out.. ugly and shameful.

No.

You wouldn't let this happen. You refused to let it.

Forgetting your previous actions, you pick him up bridal style, walking him over to a large desk with a mirror hanging over it along with a makeup kit, and sitting him on the chair. Pushing him closer to the desk, you open the kit.

"Your skin is so soft," you tell him, leaning closer to his face as you open a black tube of eyeliner. Something in your chest is pounding, you can't tell if it's because you're so excited or if.. if it's something else- your mouth feels dry and your heart seems to be in pain. You want to ignore it - a goddess in the making is sitting in front of you, you shouldn't feel like this. Your doll wouldn't want you to be like this, they'd get worried and ruin their make up.

"Please, don't be afraid," you pat his cheek, not quite sure if you're saying this for yourself or for him. "Everything will be fine, we'll be together forever now. I won't let those voices get you again- the only voice you'll ever hear is mine. Forever."

As you finish putting on the eyeliner, flinching whenever he whimpers in pain from it going it into his eye, you undo a pure white container. Using the brush, you paint his face almost completely white until only his lips and now black eyelashes are standing out.

Once you finish this, you grab a bright red lipstick tube and very carefully apply it onto his bottom lip.

"You.. you look beautiful, like a princess." You can feel yourself almost tearing up, but you bite back your tears. "Are you ready for tea?"

* * *

You want to scream at his touch, his hand that is braced around the side of your waist, the other palm resting flat against the skin of your back. It feels so wrong and the way he's dressed you up makes you almost sick. You can't help it as they scream insults and curses at you, your body shaking at the strain of it...

_Look at you, a ridiculous little mess, just so desperate for someone to love you. You were begging for it. So desperate for someone to just take you. You want it. You want him to put his hands on you, want him to fuck you and beat you until you bleed? A cheap whore, just like your mother, all dolled up and coquettish._

You know it's not true, but he... he thinks it's true and they all think it's true and they hate you- hate you- and they want to see you dead because you're just a worthless piece of shit that nobody even wants to touch...

But he wants you. He wants you. And something in your chest is fluttering as you think that you... you might want him too? He wasn't all bad... he just hurt you a little bit, but maybe it was for your own good? Maybe he was just lonely, just like you?

It's that thought that allows you to relax, go limp against him as he pulls you closer before helping you to sit down, and you look up at him from under your sticky eyelashes and... and the serial killer just stares down at you and you blush. Your hand clings to him, scared of letting go in case you fall, or... or hurt yourself.

"W-why me?" You ask him, letting him move your legs until they're straight and proper. The dress is riding up uncomfortably and you want to tell him, but you think he'll be mad if you do.

You watch as he sets the cups on the table, briefly raising his hand to brush against your cheek. You let out a surprised gasp at the gentleness of his touch, and the warmth... you don't want him to leave you.

Still, there's a familiar, painful ache in your chest. You can't help the shaking of your hands as he takes one in his own... It's awkward and you don't know if you should like it or not... You look at him again, and at his smile, you can't help it. A tear slips from one of your bloodshot eyes, running over a pale cheek and you can already see how mad he's going to be with you.

* * *

"I need you." You look down at his tea cup, filling it with the tea and a white liquid. "And soon, you'll need me too."

You stroke his face again, before letting your hand drop down his body and smile. "I'm so glad to have you. I rescued you from yourself. Are you happy that I did? I hope you are, because I'll never let you harm yourself again. I'll take care of you- I'll take care of our family."

Bringing your tea to your face, you smile. Hopefully he takes your word for it, and doesn't fight you; you want him to be peaceful and let you take care of him.

His skin will forever be beautiful, thanks to you. Maybe he'll thank you for this.. yes, maybe.. "Do you like your tea?" You ask him, taking his hand into yours. "I didn't know if you would enjoy any of the tea I have, but I hoped you would enjoy this."

"We're going to be happy," you grip his hand. "I promise."

"We can start a family soon, if you want. We can have lots of beautiful children- they'll have your skin and maybe.. maybe they'll be just like me."

You lean into his face, kissing his lips as you grip his thigh. "We can make beautiful things if you just let me try."

* * *

You can’t force his words out of your head- promises, beautiful things, are you happy, family… You swallow, a lump in your throat, mouth parched and dry despite the tea, and you don’t know what to say or what to do or what to… you just don’t know anymore. Is this a good thing? Is he going to kill you? Why does he keep calling you beautiful? What does he mean ‘start a family’? You… you don’t want kids… or anything… no, it was trouble, it was bad, horrible things, all of it…

You’re a bit nervous when he kisses you, his lips soft against your own, bloodied and chapped and ripped up with teeth… he doesn’t seem to mind though. It’s almost sweet, how good he’s treating you… you thought that he wanted to kill you back then… but now you’re not sure. You wanted him to help you, and you wanted him to talk them into forcing you up onto the little stage and pulling the pretty rope across your throat… but he… he wanted you.

He said he needed you. You let out a tiny gasp at the thought, but it’s lost on him as his tongue pries your lips apart, snaking its way into your mouth and forcing your own back, covering the inside of tooth and cheek as he tastes you so wholly that you begin shuddering. You can’t explain the abrupt desire that’s pushing against the inside of your ribcage because you know you don’t want this (don’t want him,) but you can’t seem to help it…

Instinctively, you try to pull back, to break away from him and out of his gasp, but your body betrays you, arching forward so his arms can wrap around your back and pull you closer, his lips nipping and sucking their way down from your mouth to your neck, teeth digging into the pale skin of your throat. You let out a noise, a small whine that you can’t help, pressing up against him as you try to get him to do it again… it… it felt good. You didn’t know that it would feel like this…

“I-I…” you stammer, looking up at him, your eyes wide and fearful. You’re not sure what he wants, or what he’s doing, or if he’s going to force you to do anything else, but… but you’re really confused. You try not to show it, try to swallow your terror down and hide it so deep inside of you he’d never find it, but you can barely manage that… “I want to.” You say, finally, your lower lip quivering as you stare into his eyes.

“I-I want… b-beautiful things… w-whatever y-you want…”

* * *

His hair smells like lavender and skin is perfect. You cannot help but smile as you clean the semen off of his abdomen.

He was finally yours- he even said he wanted beautiful things to be created. And you helped him, you two made such beautiful things. You've never been happier, more fulfilled before.  

You lean over to his still body, kissing his forehead again. A smile, you think, grows onto his face. His eyes stare at you, pupils dilated and as wide as possible.

"I love you," you whisper, caressing the side of his face. "Forever, we'll be together forever."

 

**Author's Note:**

> (when we got about halfway through this)  
> Mooncake: SK you're scaring him ;.;  
> Intoxicated: beauty is scary he can get over it  
> Mooncake: HE IS BEING TURNED INTO A HUMAN DOLL HE WILL NEVER GET OVER IT  
> Intoxicated: <33333 maybe he'll grow to love it?  
> Mooncake:He's going to end up enjoying this eventually...give it a couple years and Jester will fall madly in love with you and be a good little housewife~ if he doesn't kill himself first...  
> Intoxicated: he's going to end up just dying and being miserable forever  
> Mooncake: I'm pretty sure he's gonna suicide tbh  
> Intoxicated: yeah... he's going to end up trying to poison himself  
> Mooncake: Or he'll just slit his wrists and anger the SK even more  
> Intoxicated:O.o what do you think he'll do??  
> Intoxicated: I'm really confused what people'll think when they see this..  
> Mooncake: We'll be reprimanded severely :')  
> Intoxicated: :') we will be
> 
> (when Intoxicated mistyped Jester as Janitor)  
> Mooncake: oops confused are we?  
> Mooncake: don’t blame you for missing your ex-wife SK~  
> Intoxicated: ;( i know, he misses him too much  
> Mooncake: awh he’s going to be so pretty~ feel kinda bad for him though, i bet he’s crying a little bit right now because he doesn’t understand anything that’s happening  
> Intoxicated:This dress is like six sizes too small.. he's gonna cry  
> Mooncake: LMFAO  
> Intoxicated: beauty is painful  
> Intoxicated: how do panties fit over a penis... does this hurt?  
> go grab something and tell me the results  
> pleaaaaaase?ugh ;-;  
> Mooncake: i would assume it does, but i don’t have the parts to tell you.  
> i’m in bed, babe… i’m in pain… i’m not moving…  
> Mooncake: just google it or search on reddit  
> Intoxicated: http://thetab.com/uk/liverpool/2015/02/20/guide-boys-wearing-girls-knickers-19158  
> Intoxicated: :') this told me nothing  
> Intoxicated: i miss assless chaps  
> Mooncake: :’) who doesn’t


End file.
